“No opportunity. Oh, Meta, if people wish to be cross, it is easy enough to find grounds for it. There is always the moon to cry for.”
“Really and truly,” said Meta thoughtfully, “I never do meet with any reasonable trial of temper, and I am often afraid it cannot be right or safe to live so entirely at ease, and without contradictions.”
“Well, but,” said Ethel, “it is the state of life in which you are placed.”
“Yes; but are we meant never to have vexations?”
“I thought you had them,” said Ethel. “Margaret told me about your maid. That would have worried some people, and made them horridly cross.”
“Oh, no rational person,” cried Meta. “It was so nice to think of her being with the poor mother, and I was quite interested in managing for myself; besides, you know, it was just a proof how one learns to be selfish, that it had never occurred to me that I ought to spare her.”
“And your school children—you were in some trouble about them?”
“Oh, that is pleasure.”
“I thought you had a class you did not like?”
“I like them now—they are such steady plodding girls, so much in earnest, and one, that has been neglected, is so pleased and touched by kindness. I would not give them up for anything now—they are just fit for my capacity.”